The sun has been up almost three hours.
Couple of birds serenading each other 
in the trees outside.
The steady drone of a lawn mower, the
aroma of freshly mowed grass wafting
in on a cool breeze.
Bright, warm sunshine.
Saturday morning in the burbs.
Moping around the den.
Bare feet, barely robed.
Java's about ready.
Simultaneously surfing the tube 
and the web. 
Winamp randomly selects my favourite MP3.
I've got mail and the Flintstones are on.
Life is good, what else can I say?
Stepped out on the porch to get the paper.
Out of the blue, trouble comes my way.

Jogging slowly past my gate.
Just a back, still made a positive ID.
There isn't an ass like that anywhere for 
miles around.
Jade.
My closest neighbour.
A face straight off the cover off a glamour magazine 
and if God sculpted a finer body I haven't seen it yet.
Six feet tall with legs that go on forever.
Not that I am obsessing or anything.
You just can't hep but notice.
She turns as I open the door and 
casually blows me a kiss.
Caught offguard, mouth wide open.
Bam!
Like a shot from a gun. 
It hits me, hard.
Happily married.
Yep, I am.
But, 
Lord I gotta get me some!

Just last week she punched me in the gut 
and took the wind clean out of my sails.
Not literally ofcourse, well yeah, literally.
Came out to get Leo, our Poodle.
Quarter past nine.
He's horsing around in the backyard, 
messing up my old slippers.
Got him by the collar, looked up and
she was right there.
Naked in her bedroom.
Brushing her hair in front of a mirror.
Long, smooth strokes.
It's almost to her waist and blacker than a raven.
I can see her tits, small, pointed, perfect.
She puts the brush down, arches her back,
parts her lips slightly and began to stroke her 
left nipple.
Fifty-five degrees out, I'm motionless and
sweating up a storm.
Going up, you coming hon?
My wife. Happily married.
Yep, I am.
But, 
Lord I gotta get me some!

There goes to my morning.
Mugged on my own property.
Wounded.
Superficially.
Still, can't get the perp out of my head.
The phone is in my hand.
Thinking of an excuse to use it.
I know the number, it's not 911.
Home alone.
With Leo and my conscience.
The dog's ignoring me.
The conscience is on my case.
Cheerily pointing out the disadvantages of  infidelity.
Blatantly ignoring the good shit.
I had just given in to the SOB when the phone rang.
It's her.
She's having computer problems.
Can I come over and help.
The voice is soft, melodic.
Sending shivers up and down my spine.
Please?	
Sure, be right over ma'am.
She laughs, jubilant, totally unaware of
my malaise.
Or is she?
My conscience isn't dumb.
Happily married.
Yep, I am.
But,
Lord I gotta get me some!